


Do You Feel It?

by orphan_account



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Student/Teacher, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Blow Jobs, Consensual, Desk Sex, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-27
Updated: 2018-05-27
Packaged: 2019-05-14 13:13:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14770292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: For a mad moment, the instinctive, primordial part of Doyoung’s brain imagines how amazing it would be to bend Sicheng over his desk right then and there–but as soon as the images emerge, the rational part of his brain pushes them away in complete panic.(repost / following the trend I guess.)





	Do You Feel It?

“That’s it for today, guys,” Doyoung ends the lesson, trying his best not to look too relieved—which is in contrast to his students, who seem not at all shy about displaying their haste to get out of the classroom. “Don’t forget, the deadline for your mid-term paper is in two weeks! Please don’t procrastinate until a day before the deadline; make it at least two days before, alright?”

His request is met with good-natured agreements and ordinarily, this would be the end of his work day and he’d head on home with a smile, thinking about the leftover lasagna in his fridge waiting to be devoured.

Unfortunately, this is not quite like any other ordinary work day.

In between the small crowd of students, one stalks straight towards him with purpose, and Doyoung has no one else to blame for this but himself.

One does not take away Dong Sicheng’s phone and expect to get away with it unchallenged.

The rich heir slows his step when he approaches Doyoung’s desk, eyeing the little device sitting on the corner.

“Yes, Mr. Dong?” Doyoung says with a façade of naivety as the young man stands in front of him—brows twitching at the use of his last name, which Doyoung knows very well irks him more than anything. “Did you need something?”

“My phone, sir,” Sicheng replies blithely. “I’d like it back.”

“For what, exactly? So you can take more pictures instead of actually paying attention to the lecture?”

Instead of looking properly reprimanded, Sicheng merely shrugs and grins. “What can I say? You have a very photogenic… _form_ , sir.”

Doyoung arches his eyebrows. “Sicheng, what were you taking pictures of, exactly?”

Sicheng merely shrugs again, a mischievous glint in his eye as he holds out a hand expectantly. “I’d like my phone back, now.”

The professor, however, remains in between Sicheng and the phone on his desk, crossing his arms over his chest. By now, the other students have all left the classroom—had they stuck around, they would’ve borne witness to quite a show.

“No, seriously, I need it back,” Sicheng says with a slightly more serious tone, but Doyoung is unmoved.

While this kid might be perceived at first glance as the average popular spoiled heir to a fortune, Doyoung knows better. He’s one of his most clever students, a genuinely thoughtful and caring person, with a seriously promising future.

Which is why it’s _so_ important that someone gets rid of the “spoiled” part of this kid’s personality. Doyoung truly wants his student to succeed, but if he keeps shirking his deadlines and expecting everyone to make exceptions for him (which they _do_ , to Doyoung’s great frustration) it’s not going to do him any good in the real world, when he’s on his own legs.

Not to mention this bad habit that he has of, well, flirting with Doyoung whenever the opportunity arises. Usually it’s subtle enough to ignore, but it gets under Doyoung’s skin every time–even when Sicheng is being quiet, his stare across the classroom is so intense Doyoung can never feel entirely at ease.

“You can’t keep _my_ phone, it’s my property,” Sicheng then says, seeing that his professor is serious about this and starting to frown a little.

“I’ve yet to hear an apology from you, Sicheng,” Doyoung responds calmly, and Sicheng is silent for a moment, his frown deepening in thought before it smooths out again and suddenly Doyoung has a feeling this might not end up the way he’d hoped for.

Sicheng takes a step forward, right into Doyoung’s personal space, who uncrosses his arms and straightens his back in a reflex before trying to put more distance between them–and realizing his back is against his desk and there’s nowhere to go.

His student stares him right in the eyes and Doyoung is momentarily speechless, flustered by the sudden proximity as he feels the heat creep up his neck to his cheeks.

“I’m very sorry for being _so_ naughty in class, sir,” Sicheng murmurs and it’s at that exact moment when his breath brushes over Doyoung’s lips that he’s shocked out of his bewilderment and realizes how _goddamn inappropriate_ this actually is.

“Sicheng,” Doyoung says, stern and mature, and not at all squeaking in an undignified manner, “You… you, uh, really need to…” His eyes wander down to Sicheng’s plump lips for a moment and he trails off, forgetting what he’d been meaning to say a second earlier.

“Need to what, sir?” Sicheng responds innocently. “Is an apology not enough? Do you need a _different_ kind of convincing?” The tips of his fingers touch on Doyoung’s chest before they trail down slowly to the hem of his pants. “I can be pretty _persuasive_.”

For a mad moment, the instinctive, primordial part of Doyoung’s brain imagines how amazing it would be to bend Sicheng over his desk right then and there–but as soon as the images emerge, the rational part of his brain pushes them away in complete panic.

Doyoung knocks Sicheng away from him, his student surprised and stumbling a little but otherwise fine, and grabs the damned phone off his desk before shoving it into Sicheng’s hands with a burning red blush on his cheeks.

“Out!” he snaps, and Sicheng blinks before a huge, triumphant smirk stretches on his face and he gives Doyoung a mock-salute before turning around and heading out the classroom, picking up his bag on the way to the exit.

Doyoung collapses on his chair and buries his face into his hands, feeling eleven different types of mortification at what had almost happened back there and praying Sicheng won’t speak of this to anyone.

He shouldn’t have let himself get caught up in that little schemer’s tricks–in hindsight it’s so obvious what he’d been intending, but it’s too late for that now.

Not a minute later, his own phone vibrates in his pocket, and to his bemusement he finds a text message from Sicheng.

It’s a picture of Doyoung’s ass when the professor had bent over earlier to pick up a pen he dropped, underneath the picture the caption reading, _**‘see? very photogenic ;)’**_

Doyoung drops his head onto the desk, and tries very hard not to hurl his phone across the room.

 

* * *

 

Doyoung has never been so relieved at student of his graduating until Dong Sicheng.

He tries not to examine this relief too closely, knowing there are multiple reasons behind it beyond the inevitable cessation of classroom flirting. Part of him is going to miss it, but part of him is also entranced by the knowledge that if he was to act on his more carnal urges from now on, there will be no repercussions.

Of course he _tries_ not to think about it. Tries desperately not to imagine all the things he might–or rather, would do to Sicheng if he actually caved to the young man’s propositions. It’s hard not to picture it, especially when he’s lying awake in bed at night by himself, the last time he fucked anyone having been over a year ago.

Still, Doyoung reluctantly resolves to continue in his tortuous exercise of self-control. He isn’t going to jump at the first opportunity that presents itself like a mindless animal; he has more dignity than that, more discipline than that–

But god, does Sicheng look good in those jeans.

His student has entered his classroom without knocking, closing the door shut behind him with a soft click and a mischievous smirk.

“Hello, _professor_ ,” he practically purrs.

Doyoung feels his resolve crumbling.

“Sicheng,” He clears his throat nervously, averting his eyes down at his desk and shuffling around some paperwork in an attempt to appear busy. “Did you need something?” he says, then bites on his tongue when he realizes it’s the exact same thing he said last time, when Sicheng almost–

The sound of a lock being turned startles him out of his anxious thoughts. He looks up at Sicheng, who waves around a little key in his han.

“Thought we could use some privacy.”

“Where did you…” Doyoung narrows his eyes warily. Students shouldn’t have access to classroom keys.

“The janitor,” Sicheng replies with a shrug, slipping the key in his pocket and sauntering over towards Doyoung’s desk, the professor’s eyes flitting down and lingering on the light sway of hips before catching himself and pointedly looking away, avoiding Sicheng’s smug gaze.

“Don’t you have a graduation party to attend, or something?”

“I just figured I should thank you first, for being such a _great_ teacher.” Sicheng doesn’t come to a halt in front of his desk–no, he slowly circles around it, Doyoung staring fixedly at the hand tracing over the wooden surface until Sicheng is standing right next to his chair, looking down at him with a lopsided smile.

Doyoung shifts his chair back slightly, looking up at his former student’s face and trying to keep his eyes from wandering down. “It’s-it’s really not necessary–”

“I’d _really_ like to show you how grateful I really am,” Sicheng insists softly, the roguish spark usually in his eyes dimmed down to something more heated, more hungry. He glances down at Doyoung’s crotch and Doyoung swallows thickly.

“Sicheng–” he starts, the words then getting stuck in his throat as his former student leans down, both hands placed on Doyoung’s knees, slowly sliding up. “Sicheng, this isn’t the pl-place for this!” His voice cracks on the fifth word as Sicheng’s thumbs massage his inner thighs and he’s embarrassed at how quickly he’s growing hard, but Sicheng only seems delighted with it.

“I think it’s the perfect place, actually,” he murmurs with a sly curve of lips as he pushes Doyoung’s legs further apart, and kneels between them–Doyoung breathes a prayer underneath his breath, a plea for forgiveness, before Sicheng’s hand slides up the bulge in his pants and it turns into a curse halfway through as the button becomes undone with a pop.

“What if-what if someone–,” Sicheng leans forward, and takes the zipper of his pants between his fucking teeth, Doyoung breathing out a stuttering exhale as his eyes are glued to the scene. Before he can help it his own fingers are sliding through Sicheng’s hair.

_“Shit.”_

Sicheng merely grins, clearly enjoying his reactions. “How long’s it been since anyone sucked your cock, sir?”

Doyoung’s face burns with heat, and he keeps his mouth tightly shut.

Taking his silence as an answer, Sicheng looks down at his groin again, his erection only covered by his briefs and straining against it. He starts tugging it down and Doyoung helps a little by lifting up his hips briefly against all better judgement–letting out a relieved sigh when his cock is finally freed from its confinements. Sicheng’s fingers are light around the base of his shaft, frustratingly so.

“You’re gonna _love_ this, then.”

And with that, the young man leans down, his tongue sliding over the darkened head. Doyoung hisses at the moist heat, biting down on his lip even as a deep hum escapes him. He squeezes his eyes shut, his mind fixated on the sensation of the tip of Sicheng’s tongue rubbing over his slit, circling around the tip, but nothing more than that.

He’s being teased–or at least, that’s what he thinks until he finally opens his eyes to glare down at Sicheng and the young man smirks briefly before parting his lips and swallowing his whole cock down in one move.

Doyoung makes a sound between a groan and a gasp, fingers tightening in Sicheng’s hair–Sicheng sucks and Doyoung is completely at the mercy of his rhythm as he starts bobbing his head, gagging only once or twice before growing used to Doyoung’s size and taking him in as far as he can go, nose brushing against soft, blond curls of hair.

_“Fuck,”_ Sicheng is far too skilled at this; the vibrations alone when he moans around Doyoung’s cock is making his toes curl in ecstasy, and there’s little chance of him enduring for longer than a few minutes when it’s been so long and Sicheng is so good at this. “Fuck, fuck, fuck–”

When Sicheng then pulls away, Doyoung is less than satisfied. He looks down at Sicheng in confusion, watching him wipe a mixture of saliva and Doyoung’s pre-cum off his chin with the back of his hand.

“Why’d you–” Doyoung takes a deep breath, trying to regain a semblance of composure. “Why’d you stop?”

“I want you to fuck me,” Sicheng says, eyes dark with craving as he stares up evenly at Doyoung, who almost swallows his own tongue. “On this desk. Right now.”

“I–what about–”

Sicheng reaches into his pocket, taking out a little bottle of lube and a condom, throwing both at him, Doyoung nearly fumbling the catch. “Yes or no?”

Now there is a question he doesn’t even have to think about.

“Fuck yes,” Sicheng moans downright obscenely and Doyoung can only marvel at the beautiful curve of his spine as he’s lying face-down on the desk, fingers hooked on the edges, sweat glistening on the back of his neck. His shirt is discarded on the floor next to Doyoung’s chair, neck and spine covered in bruised kiss-marks.

“God, you’re gorgeous,” Doyoung breathes reverently, inhaling with a sharp breath as he pushes in further and feels the pleasant tightness of Sicheng’s inner walls straining around his dick, pausing only when he’s buried to the hilt.

“Less talking–more fucking,” Sicheng groans, eyes squeezed shut.

Doyoung’s hands move down from Sicheng’s lower back to his hips. The first thrust has him breathless and Sicheng’s nails scraping over wood. It seems like he isn’t the only one who hasn’t had sex in a while–either that or Sicheng is just particularly sensitive, squirming and writhing with every drag of Doyoung’ hips.

“Faster,” he breathes demandingly and Doyoung obeys without thought, one sharp thrust making the desk shake and Sicheng sigh in delight. Doyoung’s muscles are already burning, arms shaking as he leans both palms on the desk, continuing the quick pace and trying his hardest to keep in control, but it’s really fucking difficult when Sicheng is moaning in a broken whimper of a voice that only makes him want to fuck harder.

He leans down further and starts pressing kisses to the back of Sicheng’s neck–the young man breathes out heavily, one hand blindly reaching down until he finds Doyoung’s and his fingers curl around his wrist. Doyoung slows down his thrusts briefly as he watches Sicheng pull up his hand and kiss his knuckles as if in reply, then sucking on his middle-finger and Doyoung nearly loses it right then and there.

He rips his hand away from Sicheng’s mouth, instead moving it down to wrap his fingers around Sicheng’s shaft and the young man gasps and the way he arches his spine is the most beautiful thing.

“Sh-shit, sir,” Sicheng can barely speak, Doyoung’s grip on his hip enough to bruise as he’s thrusting slow but deeper than before, angling it consciously to hit him where it feels best–at the same time, his hand on Sicheng’s cock stroking the shaft with a tight grip, pre-cum dripping over his fingers. “Fuck–fuck–I th-think I’m g-gonna–”

Doyoung can’t speak at all as he buries his teeth in Sicheng’s shoulder, eliciting a soft hiss as his thrusts grow more erratic and wild the more the heat builds up, threatening to swallow him whole. He’s not going to be able to keep this up for much longer.

Sicheng’s voice breaks halfway through a moan and Doyoung feels it before Sicheng can even warn him–a breathless gasp, fingers clawing at the desk, heat tightening around his cock in a sudden flex of muscle, and cum all over his hand.

“Holy shi–,” Doyoung’s orgasm rocks him so hard he loses all grasp on words, mouth dropping open in a soundless moan as the pleasure singes his nerves from head to toe. He nearly collapses on top of Sicheng but manages to keep himself upright, both of them not moving at all for a moment.

Cum-stained desk aside, this was definitely one of the better experiences he’s ever had in sex.

Sicheng stares up at him and frowns slightly when Doyoung still hasn’t moved, too dazed to. “Mind pulling out, sir?”

Doyoung blinks and realizes this must be starting to feel uncomfortable for Sicheng, nodding briefly and carefully pulling his softening member out. Taking a step back (and feeling somewhat proud his legs are still steady) he rolls off the condom and drops it in the little trash can. Sicheng has already opened a drawer and is cleaning himself up with a tissue, pants still around his ankles and unabashed about his nudity.

In the aftermath, however, more than a few questions arise as Doyoung nervously zips himself up and tries not to look at the young man he just fucked over his desk when he’d been teaching him just a week ago.

“So,” He clears his throat awkwardly as Sicheng pulls his pants up. “Uh, what is… I mean, was this a–”

“You have my number, right?” Sicheng interrupts him as he reaches down for his shirt, snatching it up and slipping it back on. Doyoung nods dumbly, and Sicheng merely smiles at him. “Cool.”

And that’s all he says before picking the bottle of lube back up and walking off towards the exit–with a slight limp in his step, Doyoung notes to his pride–leaving his former professor behind.

Doyoung gazes at his back a little uncertainly as he unlocks the door. “Does that mean–”

“It means call me, _sir._ ” Sicheng replies with a wink before slipping out the door without another word, closing it softly behind him, just like the way he came in.

Doyoung practically collapses onto his seat a moment later, dazed by the whole ordeal and half-convinced it must’ve been some lurid hallucination–

Until he notices the cum stains on the desk.

He’s going to have to clean _that_ up.


End file.
